


Glad Tidings

by myriddin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Holidays, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 21:45:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5391518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriddin/pseuds/myriddin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon comes home for the holiday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glad Tidings

He had never felt so nervous in his life, his short trek up the Starks’ front walk more resembling a death march given the anxiety tying his stomach up in knots. He swallowed hard as he finally mustered the courage to ring the doorbell, his heartbeat in his ears as the door slid open a few moments later to reveal Ned Stark.

It took all his willpower not to fidget under the stern gaze of his first father figure, reminding himself that he was a man grown and not a child waiting to be scolded. Even still, he awkwardly shuffled his feet before clearing his throat and raising his eyes to meet Ned’s. “Good morning, Mr. Stark.”

“Jon.” Ned’s expression was unreadable, having more of that adolescent nervousness fluttering in Jon’s chest. The way Ned was watching him, studying him, he felt laid out and vulnerable, just like all those years ago when Robb had dragged him home, crowing over their victory and newfound friendship after they had teamed up to defend a classmate being bullied in the schoolyard. When Catelyn pulled Robb aside to fuss over his scraped knees and bloody lip, Jon was left to be faced with Eddard Stark’s grave, grim countenance for the first time. He had been terrified of a reprimand, but he had stood witness to magic happening instead. That solemn face softened and Ned smiled, much the way he did now, twelve years later.

“I take it you’re here to see Sansa?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ned stepped out of the way, motioning for him to come in. “She’s in the living room.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

Ned arched an amused brow as he spotted the parcel in Jon’s hands. “I thought years ago I told you to call me Ned.”

Jon returned his smile, a little tentatively, as Ned closed the door and guided the younger man toward the inner house. “Sorry. Ned.”

“Shaggydog, get back here with that!”

A sudden exclamation from a room over caught both of their attention, causing a quick exchange of incredulous glances as the two men stepped into the living room, watching as a blur of black fur rushed passed them and through the back door, clutching a generous-sized ham in his maw. Bran and Sansa were at the dog’s heels, though the cacophony of joyous barking from the yard announced that Shaggy had met his goal and he and his siblings would soon be enjoying their holiday meal.

Jon’s lips twitched with amusement as Sansa face-palmed, motioning for Bran to go ahead and close the back gate. Jon’s heart began to pick up as he anticipated his chance to catch her attention, but then Catelyn appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking far from pleased. “Ned, if I’ve told that boy once, I’ve told him a thousand times, we don’t have half an acre of property for him to let that animal run free in this house.”

Ned sighed, walking over to reassure his wife. “Rickon will come looking for food at some point, Cat. We’ll talk to him then. Why don’t you let me help with dinner in the meantime? I hear a certain twelve-pound bird calling my name.” He cupped a hand over his ear to complete the joke, and Catelyn rolled her eyes, but the theatrics earned him a fond smile and a kiss.

Jon glanced again at Sansa, as much as captive audience of her parents’ antics as Jon, but not yet aware of his presence. Ned caught the look and gave his daughter a nudge as he and Catelyn passed by. “Sansa, come greet your guest.”

As Sansa curiously turned her head and her parents disappeared into the kitchen, her eyes met Jon’s for the first time in nearly a year and a half.

Time stopped, the world ceased spinning on its axis, and reality as he knew it came to a standstill. He forgot what it meant to breathe, to remember anything beyond that moment, even something as simple as his own name.

And then she whispered to him, the sound of the name given to him at birth, and it all came rushing back to him, his identity, his existence, and his place in the world. “Sansa, Sansa…” her name passed from his lips in a steady repetition, a mantra meant to ground him, to convince himself he was not dreaming.

She whispered his name once more, tears shining against her face. He tried to smile, failing miserably as he reached out to her, hesitantly, slowly, for her image had been an apparition in his imagination for too long, and he feared her disappearing.

But suddenly, she threw her arms around his neck, pressing against him. She was tangible and so very real as the warmth of her body, the feel of her, soaked into him. “H-hey,” he muttered, wincing at the shaky quality to his voice. “Haven’t I told you before that I hate to see you cry?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just been so long.”

“I know what you mean.” He pressed kisses to her hair, cradling her all that tighter against him. Fifteen months. Fifteen months since he had held her, touched her, seen her face through anything more than a grainy webcam. He stroked her hair, resting his cheek against the top of her head with a contented sigh. Fifteen months too damn long.

“Dude! Gross! You’re under the mistletoe!”

The couple turned to see Rickon’s head pop up at the base of the staircase, looking utterly disgusted in a way only a preteen boy could truly pull off. Sansa glowered in her brother’s direction, but before she could retort, Catelyn proved that “mom hearing” was a true and present phenomenon.

“Rickon!” Jon stifled a chuckle as Rickon went ghostly pale and scurried back up the stairs, just before his mother’s reappearance in the kitchen doorway. She sighed as she realized her youngest had made his getaway, looking wryly at her daughter and the young man she was still wrapped around. “Jon, will you be joining us? Dinner won’t be until later, but Ned and I were planning to set up the makings for sandwiches once Arya and Robb get back. I’m sure they would both love to see you.”

“Uh…I wouldn’t want to intrude…”

“It’s no trouble. We’ll have plenty even without the ham.”

Still Jon hesitated, but an insistent tug on his collar had him turning back to meet Sansa’s pleading gaze. “Jon, please stay. You can’t just drop in and out again. I just got you back.”

He reached down, tucking her hair back behind her ear. “Hey. S’okay. I’ll stay.”

Catelyn watched their interactions with a soft smile, taking his assent to stay and stepping back into the kitchen to give them their privacy.

The allusion to the holiday was a lightbulb moment for Jon, as he remembered the gift he had accidentally abandoned in their fervor to get to one another. He retrieved the bouquet and sheepishly presented them to her.

“These are for you. I think they ended up a little bruised. Sorry.”

She shyly smiled at him, holding the flowers with care as she breathed in their fragrance. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“Welcome.”

She reached up to stroke one cool petal, watching him thoughtfully. “Gardenias. Jon Snow, do you have a secret?”

He cocked his head, his mouth curving into a crooked grin. “Is it really still a secret when it’s so poorly-kept?”

Arching an eyebrow, she slipped her arms around his neck. “I say it’s still a secret considering you’ve never said the words.”

His breath caught, taking in the mischievous glint to her eyes. “Is that right?”

“Hmm-mm.”

She was close, so close, that the scent of her filled his nose and made him dizzy. Her breath danced across his skin, hypersensitive to even her slightest proximity. Soft lips found their destination against his cheek, and he breathed in deeply, turning his head to nuzzle against her hair. “I love you. I’m sorry I haven’t told you before.”

“It’s alright. Now is when it matters.” She kissed him again, a chaste press of lips to lips at first, and then the contact lingered, soft and sweet. “Welcome home, Jon.”


End file.
